Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

Delia's heart was still pounding from their clumsy, funny fall in the hallway. She stood before the vanity mirror in his room, her cheeks flushed, her whole body humming with a nervous, excited energy. Eric came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her in a warm, possessive embrace.

"Reward?" Delia asked, her voice a little breathless as she looked at their reflection in the large, ornate mirror.

"Mmmm," Eric replied, his voice a low, pleased rumble in her ear as he inhaled her scent. He gently pushed the shawl from her shoulders, letting it fall in a soft heap on the floor. He then took a fist full of her hair and put it to the front and leaned in, his lips pressing a soft, warm kiss to the back of her neck, right where it met her shoulder.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped Delia's lips. His hands moved from her waist, sliding slowly, deliberately, up to her breasts, her silk gown eliminating all possible friction. He played with them through the thin, soft silk material of her nightgown, his touch both gentle and firm. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking the peaks until they hardened. He then gently fondled one and squeezed the nipple, causing Delia to arch her back against his hard chest, a loud, breathy groan escaping her.

"Eric," she said, her voice a plea and a prayer all at once.

He loves it when she calls his name in that manner with nothing restraining her need for indulgence. He wanted to hear it again, to hear her voice sing praises of his name. He pinched her nipple again and she called out to him.

"Eric, please…." She pleaded.

He pulled one of the thin straps of her nightgown down, revealing the round, soft curve of her breast to the soft, flickering candlelight. He fondled it gently as he watched her reaction in the mirror, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted in a silent gasp of pleasure. He brought his own lips to her ear and whispered, his breath hot and tickling against her neck.

"Why did you come to my room so late at night, Delia?" he asked, his voice a seductive, teasing murmur. "Were you also feeling… needy? Did you come here for me to touch you?"

Delia didn't answer his question directly. She was too lost in the sensations he was creating, in the sight of their two bodies pressed together in the mirror. "Eric," she whispered, her voice now breathy and full of a new, bold desire. "Let's take this to the bed."

Eric replied, his lips now nibbling gently on her earlobe. "I think I prefer doing it right here."

"Out of all the places in this large house…" she began.

"Yes," he replied, cutting her off. "Out of all the places." He pinched one of her hardened nipples gently through the silk, causing Delia to moan again, a low, sweet sound in the quiet room. "I like this spot right here, Delia. I like watching you." He kissed the back of her neck again, a long, slow, and deeply sensual kiss.

"I agree," Delia replied, her voice now a throaty whisper as she finally, completely, surrendered to her own desire. "I came here because I am feeling needy. Because I want you inside of me. I needed the indulgence."

Eric kissed her neck again, a silent, pleased acknowledgment of her confession. "But not in front of the mirror, right?" he teased gently.

"Standing here," she replied, her voice now a little shaky, "looking at myself, at the way you are looking at me… it isn't doing me any service at all. It is not making me feel much."

A slow, wicked smile spread across Eric's face in the mirror. "Really?" he said. "May I check?"

"Check what?" she asked, confused.

Without any warning, Eric's arm swept across the top of the vanity table, clearing everything—silver and gold covered brooches, crystal perfume bottles, his gold pocket watch —onto the plush rug with a soft, muffled thud. He then held her by the waist, lifted her up as if she weighed nothing at all, and sat her down on the now-empty surface of the table.

"Eric!" she said, a shocked, breathless sound. " What are you doing?"

He stood between her legs, his hands resting on her thighs, his gaze intense and full of a raw, burning passion. He looked up at her and answered her question. "To check if this spot truly does you no service."

He opened her legs and leaned down, his lips pressing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses up the inside of her thighs, his teeth gently biting and sucking the soft skin.

"Ugh, Eric…" Delia said, her head falling back, her hands gripping the edge of the hard, wooden vanity table.

He then moved higher, his attention now focused on the very center of her. His hot breath, followed by the wet, warm touch of his mouth, made her entire body jolt with a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. He began to lick and suck her, his tongue a masterful instrument of that pure pleasure she craved.

"Wait…" Delia said, her voice a choked, desperate cry. Her hand, which had been gripping the table, now held a fistful of his dark, soft hair. The pleasure was too much, too soon.

Eric stopped and looked up at her from underneath, his own eyes dark and hazy with his own desire. She let go of his hair, her hand falling limply to her side. But Eric was not done. He held her wrist with one of his hands, while his other hand held her legs open. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, then her palm, a gesture of both devotion and dominance. And then he went down to continue his worship of her, his mouth and his tongue bringing her to the very edge of a pleasure she had never known was possible.